Friday, 17 November 2017

Douche

Wow, it's been a hot minute since my last post. Whatever that means.

It has been a while, in any case. Much has happened; our house move is still an ongoing process, insofar as we have moved, but my life is now more of a concept consisting entirely of boxes and bags of miscellaneous bullshit I'd forgotten we own. I'm just a flitting idea now, rather than an entity.

My libido has been held back a bit by the fact that I've been suddenly given a lot more work to do, the room isn't as nice to touch myself in when there's still a looming pile of Things To Sort, and I'd lost the power cable for my external HD, which is where all my soft porn is. Perhaps more crucially, although my imagination and my hand are both still operational, I had an accident the other day which - as well as producing some very impressive marks on my thigh - put my right hand out of action for a day or so; specifically the index finger, which had a huge blister forming, making me have to balance a pen between thumb and middle finger when writing longhand.

I'm still typing mainly using my middle finger, since I got used to it.

Masturbation hasn't been impossible - I've had some opportunities to do so and taken advantage thereof - but it has been difficult. Fortunately, however, I have had some spectacular orgasms as a result.

One thing I haven't done yet is take a shower here. I think I have a phobia - whether the fact that it's an unfamiliar bathroom, or the fact that there are two single girls living upstairs and I don't want to appear just wearing a towel, or that I've just been too damn tired (which is probably the real reason), it hasn't happened yet. This occurred to me post-orgasm earlier in the week, when I suddenly realised that I was composed mainly of dry skin, and that I should indeed take a shower. In fact, I really needed one.

Yesterday afternoon I had a three-hour break between shifts at work. With nothing to do that wouldn't cost money - and safe in the knowledge that going home would have been a case of getting there, turning around and going back out again - I took a punt and headed to my parents' house to take a shower.

SH was empty when I got there, apart from Willow (who I fed), so I undressed with relative impunity, threw my pants, socks and T-shirt into the washing machine, and entered the bathroom.

My parents have a shower enclosed within a glass capsule, so it's perfectly possible for one to stand directly beneath it, turn it on and wait for the water to cascade over your naked body. So, of course, that is precisely what I did. Up went the lever, there was a faint gurgle, and then the rain burst into life, covering me in seconds.

I can't explain the sound I made - it was something between an expression of relief and ejaculatory bliss. It was so simple - warm, clean water sliding down my chest, back and stomach (and making all my fresh wounds sting) - but so relieving and satisfying. I grabbed a random shower gel (one of my sister's, I think), lathered up and let the jet wash it all away. Chest,  stomach, legs, feet, crotch, back, even my arse - it all got cleaned. I spent a lot of time on my face, used shampoo and conditioner in my hair (I suspect also my sister's products), and marvelled for far too long on the visual of everything spiralling down the drain into oblivion.

Washing away all manner of sins.

I stood there in the steam for a while, then stepped out onto the bathmat, wrapped a towel around myself, blow-dried my hair, commandeered some of my dad's clothes, and strapped my shoes back on. I said goodbye to Willow, hauled my bag over my shoulder, and set off into the autumnal dusk.

I still have my worries, and I'm still anxious about money, overworked for what I do, and with a mountain of boxes to sort out... but at that moment, scrubbed clean and properly dried, fresh as a daisy and just as powerful as the mighty oak, I felt like everything was all right. I could do anything.

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